


In a Bit of a Bind

by A_N_Whitmore



Series: Obsession [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_N_Whitmore/pseuds/A_N_Whitmore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter helps Stiles out of a sticky situation...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Bit of a Bind

Stiles arm _fucking burns_ and the feeling of flames at his back does nothing to ease the feeling of being totally eaten alive by pain. Being tattooed by hand is an act of insanity, he feels like he wants to vomit. He won’t, Stiles Stilinski isn’t going to vomit because of a little pain. Especially not when he’s surrounded by Emissaries. He will,however, possibly pass out…

 

Peter Hale has never been one to say that he is immune to pain, but he does like to think he’s built up a tolerance to it over the years. The feeling of needle like blades on the upper bicep of his right arm, is a new form of crazy he can now say he has had the _pleasure_ of enjoying. Since the strange experience of Stiles’ obvious ritual cleansing and possible near drowning, he’s felt all manner of thoughts come through the strange and innocuous connection they’ve somehow formed.

Cora and Derek haven’t stopped watching him like a pair of hawks since he mentioned his unique connection with Stiles, and Scott? Well, Scotty boy nearly slit his throat open, forcing him to submit and bare his throat like he was a pup. He has to admit, the boy Alpha was nearly as intimidating as Talia was.

“I _may_ have… Started seeing Stiles differently."

Derek pulled a chair over while Scott forced him to sit, Cora had the old inhaler on standby, but Peter knew this was going to end up going tit over arse in about five minutes once he told them just what he and Stiles had been up to at the beginning of October. No inhaler was going to help him breathe if this went south.

“You…" Scott laughed, "Stiles wouldn’t go near you if you were the last person on earth, or did you forget what you did to Lydia?"

“If you don’t believe me, you must be either dull or rather brain damaged. And Lydia… I’ve more than apologised or do you forget me taking wolfsbane laced darts to the face for your little Banshee? Come on Scott, listen to my heart, we both know I’m apparently a shitty planner, what makes you think I’d lie? I’ll try to make it a little easier for you okay? Stiles is mine. He wants this and I’m not going to deny him."

He found himself back on his knees with a deafening howl, Scott directly in his face, red eyes flashing at him and forcing him to recognise superiority. He wouldn’t bare his throat, not to this boy… But upon hearing a subtle command of “Submit" he knew he was done for as his eyes flashed their Beta hue and he turned his head to the left, his throat bare to be slaughtered.

“Stiles is his own person, and he will never belong to you or anyone, if anything…You’ll belong to him."

“Stiles is mine, as I am his."

He suddenly felt Scott’s claws at his throat, the pressure of his grip pushing the talon like nails further into his skin and he smelled his blood dripping slowly onto the floor of the loft.

“Scott, we don’t know if this goes both ways. You could hurt Stiles."

Cora played the voice of reason, her touch gentling Scott into letting go as Peter backed away slowly with his bloodied neck still exposed. Still feeling the buzzing pressure of Alpha superiority, Peter forced himself back into a sitting position and made his way onto the chair as Scott finally released him.

Derek has been watching the exchange the entire time with a clouded look to his eyes, Cora too looks at him with seeds of doubt written in her body language as Scott walks away and dials Morrell for insight. With Deaton gone on Retreat with Stiles, she was to work with them in the interim.

“You’re all looking at me like I’ve killed him… I’m telling you he’s going through Initiation.”

His voice cuts off as the sensation of needles or blades start slicing into his bicep, Peter grimaces as he puts his hand to the area and it comes away tinged with blood. Derek pulls the shoulder of his Henley away and he spies the outline of a tree forming before their eyes.

The loft door slams shut as Morrell walks through and pushes Derek out of the way.

“It’s a form of Somatization, he’s formed an emotional link to Stiles. A pretty significant one on both ends from the look of the tattoo.”

Peter looks down to see the details forming of a wolf that looks suspiciously like himself. The pain of the needles seems to lessen for a moment but he has the strong taste of bile in his mouth, the urge to retch is nearly overwhelming and he can feel the link reverberate in the back of his mind as his body prevents his healing from taking over. He hasn’t felt like this since he resurrected.

Stiles… Stiles it’s ok, I’m here.

He feels the blossom of Stiles’ erratic and spontaneous energy bloom in the back of his mind like a lotus and suddenly he feels relief wash over him.

 

Stiles can’t tell if this is a nightmare or a waking terror, he just wants the pain to end. He can feel Micheal running a cool cloth over his forehead and Jared has changed the bloodied water at least eight times since this whole process began. Euan has been letting him bite at a leather thong during the most difficult parts but for the most part he’s been sweating his ass off and trying not to scream in pain.

The urges to pass out and vomit have been replaced with the urge to fucking punch Micheal and he can see Deaton and Deucalion watching him like this is freaking MMA or something equally spectacular. Martha has walked past him every half hour and nodded sagely as though approving of his torture.

Yet, as he focused, he could feel something smooth and gentle like a breeze form inside his mind and roll outwards.

Stiles… Stiles it’s ok I’m here.

The breeze manifests suddenly, rolling over the crown of his head and over his body and he can feel himself sigh in relief. The pain ceases to exist as the breeze moves outward and he finds himself being slowly lifted and his tattoo is covered in a clear balm. He doesn’t look as he’s sat down at the table and a drink of water is placed in front of him, he’ll look later when he’s alone.

Martha, Kim and Deaton are discussing amongst themselves as a paste of bloodroot is mixed with his tattoo water. The bowl is set in front of him with a piece of charcoal and he looks up to see Deaton standing next to him with Deucalion on his left. He stands taking it over to the fire, this part is yet another test out of his trial.

The fire suddenly sparks higher as the breeze picks up again. His hand feels hot as he rubs it over the charcoal and he watches as it glows in his grip. It flares to life and he nearly drops it on the ground before he remembers he has the bowl in his opposite hand, dropping the charcoal piece into it; he watches the paste smoke to ash, gathering it into his palm, the breeze that has been stirring around him suddenly blows harder and the ash scatters to the wind.

“Congratulations, you’ve completed your first ritual.” Martha walks over to him and hands him a plate of food with a smile across her face as the sun begins to set. Micheal’s pipes start up a lively jig and he pats Euan to take over as he sits down, gathers his tools, tossing the rags to the fire as kindling.

The urge to eat overwhelms him as his pain recedes and he’s glad that someone thought to save him some stew and turnips as well as a huge mound of his favourite mushrooms. He knows that some Emissary choose to eat a vegetarian diet, but he likes the way Gawain has prepared the venison for tonight.

He wonders if they all have strange names, but his wondering doesn’t get much farther than that because Gus drops a slab of meat on his plate.

“Gus my man! You are awesome!”

“Kieran, I may look like the mouse from Cinderella but if you call me Gus instead of Gawain again, I’ll make sure I shoot you instead of that deer,” he points with the flat of his knife at the slab of venison and smiles.

“You’ll shoot me… Yeow. Ok I’ll make sure it’s Gawain… And I hope you’re kidding about the shooting me thing.”

“Of course! You think Druids just go round killing everyone?” Gawain is handed a mug of ale by Jared and they all sit to eat as the moon begins to rise with the scent of roasted apples on the air.

 

Peter pulls his shirt off and reveals the stark contrast of the raised scar against his skin, he looks at the fine detail in the mirror and has the urge to run his fingers over the wolf. The tree is full of curling leaves, with more scattering around to the wind and a pile of them litter the base, he can make out their detailed veins and he shudders at the sudden realisation that it’s the Hale Family Oak. Not nearly as powerful as the old Nemeton, but still a power base in it’s own right… An infant Nemeton in the making according to dear old Deaton.

He’s never thought of getting another tattoo besides the Triskele between his shoulders, while not as large as his nephew’s, Peter had incorporated the Triquetra in the centre and had interwoven knots of braided cord tracing the legs with Wolvesbane and ivy running the midline. Since the fire however, the tattoo had been burned away, his wife’s artistic memory gone. Peter had the drawing framed in his office, but he couldn’t bear to have the symbol redone without her touch.

This however, this delicate scar, forged by a connection he couldn’t possibly understand, moves him. He wants to find Stiles, to bring him back and try to go on a coffee date, he wants to touch and be touched again. He hasn’t touched anyone in so long. The need that Stiles has evoked is like a drug, and he craves… He craves and it plagues him.

Slipping his shirt back on, he stalks out of Derek’s bathroom and grabs his keys off the table as the others converse about the recent discovery of their connection.

“I’m going to find him,” with that he leaves and takes the shortest route to his apartment.

He doesn’t require much time to pack, he gathers the essentials along with his journal and makes his way to the airport to take the red eye flight to St. Louis. He feels the itch grow beneath his skin as the plane boards and he settles in for the five hour journey. From there he could search for the enclave with relative ease.

Landing at St. Louis International, his connection with Stiles becomes overwhelming , the feeling of dancing and revelry within him infects Peter and he feels almost drunk on the flow of energy coming through. It isn’t too late in the night, he can find the boy, his boy and relieve the intense craving, this feeling shakes him to the core. He’s never had his control slip this far. Renting an over priced Range Rover, he opens his senses up further and heads off to the Ozark range, pulling at Stile’s connection for flashes of road signs in his memory. He knows Stiles can feel him drawing ever closer.

 

Stiles pulls himself away from the dances as he feels eyes watching him, Peter has been getting closer and their bond has grown from a tenuous thread to a full blown sensory overload, Deaton is looking at him with concern as he walks off back to the cabins and he knows the Emissary is going to follow.

“Stiles is everything all right?” The Druid passes his hand over Stiles’ forehead for a fever check as he leans against his door. Stiles nods, pulling away as a green Range Rover pulls up into the clearing and Peter hops down into view.

“Hey…” Stiles waves him over and goes to walk towards him but his vision starts to swim and before he knows it, he’s face down in the grass and feeling like he’s going to pass out. The grass is soft, but he doesn’t exactly want to sleep there. This is almost as bad as the time he offered to get Scott wasted and ended up pretty hammered.

He feels Peter gather him up like a child and curls into the warmth of the older man’s chest as he walks them inside Stiles’ abode of crapdom. Books and papers litter the bed, but Peter pushes them aside to the floor and sets him down on the rough-spun blankets. Yet, as Peter turns to leave, Stiles takes his hand and he feels the nauseated feelings begin to recede.

“Don’t go.”

“I need you to get some sleep Stiles.”

“Stay here then creep, cause I can’t sleep when I feel like shit. Besides, I think I ate too much. Magic…. Rumplestiltskin was right, it always comes with a price.”

He watches as Stiles moans in discomfort and clutches at his stomach. The ritual has nearly drained him but Peter can feel the thrum of new power awakening beneath Stiles’ full moon skin, it’s shine nearly opalescent to his lycan eyes. He wants to strip and drive the fever out, however, the door to the small cabin is still open and he feels the heavy weight of Deucalion gazing at him in the night.

” I’ll be back, just need to speak with your guard dog out here ok?”

He smooths Stiles’ hair down and gets up, walking out onto the shack’s small porch, closing the door as he comes face to face with Deucalion.

“Well I never put it past you to look for new ways to keep yourself afloat Peter. Who would have thought the boy would form an attachment to you? I certainly didn’t”

“Bullshit Duke, that’s a bunch of bull and you know it. You’ve been watching him and reporting since before he even decided to enter the training. Why else would you be so silent? The Order doesn’t have the Cú Ifrinn watch a Spark for nothing, you get something out of it. What? Were you hoping that he’d anchor to you instead? I’m not here to use him and you can believe it or put me under White Wolfsbane if you want but he’s not going to be pushed around like a pawn on the board. I won’t let them or you do that to him.”

“You know drawing out the Nogitsune using Scott was genius, but Void tainted Stiles, he’ll be a black pawn until he proves himself. You’re forgetting he still has the sword swinging over his head.”

“Then I’ll be the fucking sword.”

“You’ll take the oath? You’ll kill to preserve the balance? Somehow I don’t see that happening, you always did turn tail if it meant saving your own ass.”

“Not this time.” Peter’s claws dig into his palms, he wasn’t a fucking coward. “

" "You’ll have to talk to the Order you know, explain your attachment to him. They don’t often change their minds once they give a charge."

“Cut the morally superior act and just take me to the Council. The sooner I ask for a representative, the sooner they can get the message to the Order.”

“In the morning.”

The urge to throttle Deucalion was growing by the minute but he holds himself in check as the bastard walks off the porch and melts into the night, seeming to wrap himself in the shadows. Heading back inside, he shuts and locks the door finding himself face to face with Stiles’ lithe form sweating through his roughspun cloak.

“Stiles,” Peter calls walking over and kneeling next to the bed.

He’d seen initiations before, but nothing had done this to the initiates. Something was wrong here.

“Peter, I feel… Too hot.”

“What did you eat Stiles? Anything unusual?”

“Don’t care… Please.”

“Seriously? Is this going to be one of those cliche fuck me or die tropes? Yes, you leave your internet browser open way too often.”

“Asshole…”

“Come here.” Peter pulls Stiles up into his lap, he sniffs at Stiles’ breath, not detecting anything unusual, but the smell of his skin gives off a rather unusual scent like burnt roses and cowhage.

“We need to get you into the shower beautiful boy. Someone’s rubbed your cloak with a lust spell.”

“Nn..not allowed to use that here, against the Laws. Goes against free will.”

“Free will or not darling, someone wants to see you corrupted. Where’s the shower around here?” Peter can feel his canines lengthening as Stiles mouths at his neck, sucking a rather fantastic hickey that would have bruised beautifully if not for his healing factor.

“Peter… Just…forget the shower, you smell fine. Touch me, please.”

“Stiles, if you take a shower with me, I’ll fuck you within an inch of sanity if you still want me to.”

"Want to.. Want to fuck you so much. I can’t stop thinking about it."

“Then come with me.” He lifts Stiles up and tosses the cloak in the corner, revealing his naked form, his tattoo bandaged and his cock long and hard, leaking at the tip with pearled essence that he wishes to taste again. However he won’t take advantage of Stiles, not like this.

Alluring as the boy is in his aroused state, Peter isn’t a rapist no matter how much some may speak contrary. He covers Stiles with the thin blanket to protect his modesty and sniffs out the scent of chlorine and soap. It figures that they would put the bathing house near the cabins, but it’s still a far walk with a randy teen in his arms.

He finds the bath house empty but instead of a convenient set of showers, he finds a communal scrubbing area and an inset wooden tub for soaking. It’s large enough to accommodate six or so people at a time. Stiles has become more rowdy on the walk over, trying to rub up against Peter and moaning lasciviously every time he makes contact.

“If you don’t behave I’ll turn the cold water on you.”

All Peter gets back in response is a full bodied shiver and he wants to pull Stiles closer and capture his lips in a searing kiss but he holds off, setting Stiles down and stripping to his boxers. He tries to ignore the pull of Stiles’ warm hands roving over his torso and dipping lower but a man can only take so much teasing.

“Stiles… Get in the water before I shove you in.”

“Peter…I don’t want to.”

Kneeling down, Peter takes Stiles’ hand in his own, manoeuvring to slide them both in and succeeds, dunking Stiles’ head under the warm water. He watches as the boy sputters, flicking water out of his eyes and indignantly huffing in outrage,

“Pfft… You, you! God what the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, you have a perfect sense of timing as usual.”

“Why is it so hot in here? I feel like… Like I’ve got a fire burning in my chest.”

“That would be a lust spell dumb ass. Smells like burnt roses and wine or milkweed extract depending on the time of the year. This one used cowhage though. Ramps up a libido.”

“I… How?” Stiles pushes away from the side and turns on the cold tap, splashing his face vigorously, trying to cool off.

“Apparently someone wants to help rid you of that pesky virginity, how do you think? They rubbed your cloak with the concoction or sprayed it on.”

“Fuck you. Maura wouldn’t do that, she’s married already.”

“You just don’t get it do you? Some people don’t give a damn about marriage when they see something or someone they want. You’re beautiful, don’t you see that? And maybe she was doing it for someone else, Maura doesn’t seem like the type to break up her ‘harmonious union’; whatever that means.” Not that he knows who exactly Maura is.

“Agh, it feels worse! Why the hell isn’t it stopping? And don’t call me beautiful… Scott’s beautiful, Lydia’s beautiful… I’m average.”

“No Stiles, you are very good looking, above average and definitely beautiful.” Peter crowds Stiles, splaying his hand possessively across the youth’s stomach. He listens as his heart rate calms and he moans in relief.

“Stiles, I don’t think this is going to end in you dying but it will be rather uncomfortable for you if we don’t wash this off. Would you like me to stay or should I go?” He bites back a laugh as Stiles sighs into his touch.”

“You leave and I will find the nearest pile of Wolfsbane and shove your naked wolfy ass into it, capisce? Wait, why isn’t this making you all horny? Isn’t it all over me?

“You still have a lot to learn young grasshopper,” Peter chuckles lightly, “It’s a spell designed to affect you, of course it still makes me want you.” He whispers the last part into the shell of Stiles’ ear.

“Then do something already!” Stiles punches his thigh below the water, his hand glancing against Peter’s obvious erection.

“You aren’t thinking clearly… I won’t do that to you Stiles… Besides, I haven’t been with anyone besides my wife in a very long time let alone ever being with a man.”

“Peter, wash this shit off and I guarantee you I will still be wanting to fuck the hell out of you.”

“Shh, I’ve got you. I’ve got you darling boy. We’ll just take the edge off,hmm, would that help?”

“I don’t care what you do, just…” Stiles’ words are cut off as Peter backs him to the edge of the tub with a sound kiss. He feels himself lifted out of the water and shudders as the cooler air brushes in ghost like tendrils across his naked skin. Peter’s hands leave momentarily but soon return slick with something that smells of Jasmine. His eyes open briefly to see a small vial of aromatic oil tipped on its side, the blue bottle now empty of the contents it once held. Yet, his world narrows again as Peter’s deft fingers begin tracing over his scrotum, the feelings overwhelming as his testes draw up tight against his cock. Peter’s palm is warm and inviting as he ruts up into his loose grip.

“No, no, let me take care of you.” Peter pushes his hips back to the floor, gently stroking him.

“Mm Peter, harder.”

“Shh, we do this my way or it stops… Do you want that? Do you want me to stop?”

He didn’t get the opportunity to observe Stiles last time, the boy was beautiful all splayed out and pale. The flush rising on his creamy white skin only enhanced the constellation of moles smattering his body.

” Don’t stop… Put your fingers… in me.”

Peter’s eyes travel down to Stiles dark dusky hole, its tight puckered opening twitching for attention, eager and needy. He felt his breath hitch in his throat, the thought of finally touching someone here and not having it be some dark fantasy was tantalising. The first tentative touches of his fingers leave Stiles whimpering, turning into tiny gasps escape as Peter presses his first finger in and rests it there. He watches as Stiles’ eyes flutter and his opening pulses hungrily in time with his heartbeat. He withdraws slowly and adds a second finger, this time pushing harder on entry, curling his fingers and feeling around his boy’s tight warmth.

He ignores the pulse of his cock, preferring to watch hungrily as Stiles’s feet try to grip the floor in order to help push down on the intruding digits.

“Not enough… Give me more Peter…Please!” “

" "Shh baby, shh… You look so good like this, all stretched out for me. Do you think you could cum like this? Without me touching your cock?"

He’s only heard people talk like this in Porn, Nicole would blanch at his vulgarity unless she was really needy. Even then he had to watch what he said. He wonders if Stiles would be the same way but judging from the way his ass tightens, Peter wants to make him fall apart.

His mouth is so close to Stiles’ cock, he thinks about sucking him again but it would defeat the purpose. He wants to have Stiles cum shoot the way he’s seen it in videos. He wants to lick it up and drink it down. He wants to rub himself against Stiles and leave pearls on his chest. He needs to paint those pert lips with their combined flavours.

Taking himself in his opposite hand he strips his cock awkwardly but it still feels good enough that he finds himself grunting with effort as Stiles leaves slick trails of precome over his stomach and knuckles, he watches the boy’s eyes draw closed and screw tightly shut as his body begins to tense, overwhelmed by the onslaught of Peter’s fingers against his prostate.

Suddenly his eyes fly open as his hips snap upwards, and Peter watches him come, shuddering and gasping out choked sobs. He feels warm slick lines land on his chest and neck and a few manage to even find their way to his lips and face. It’s just the moment Peter needed to see, he needed Stiles to come undone and he feels himself fall back in a white wall of light.


End file.
